The Nine Walkers - A Total FotR Movie ReWrite
by Black Lothlorien
Summary: A Complete AU rewrite of the FotR movie. I split it up finally into six chapters, so no one would get overloaded trying to read it all at once. A good fic for rainy and lazy days!
1. Fighting A Lost Cause...

_What if Mirkwood had not held up to the forces of Dol Guldur so long ago? What if the world of elves in Mirkwood accounted to no more than a tiny handful of warriors bent on just surviving in their tortured and destroyed home? What would happen if the leader of this band was none other than the Prince, Legolas? Would he respond to a summons from Rivendell? Or would he simply refuse it?_

The Nine Walkers of the Ring

By Lothlórien

The fight was not important enough to the orcs to be called a battle. It was a mere skirmish to them, just an outpost dispute, where some of the _Tawar-Maethor, the Forest-Warriors, caused problems every so often.  They jested and taunted the attackers, daring them with bared teeth to keep attacking. Already they had hewn their numbers in two since the first day of the spring._

To the Forest-Hiders, this was a life and death struggle that they could not afford to lose.

That once proud culture that stood so solidly in the forest of Greenwood the Great had fallen to the evil forces of Mordor. So long ago, the wondrous, beautiful forest where the Silvian Elves were ruled, in contentment, by the family of Sindarin Elves, was now known as the evil of Mirkwood.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of the Elf-King Thranduil, was one of the remaining seven elves left alive at the cry of summer. Already so many trusted companions had fallen. 

No help would come. Lothlórien and the refuge of Rivendell had openly accepted the refugees from the forest of Mirkwood, though there survived few. Legolas himself knew not where his father now dwelled, for rationale of security and safety.

At that moment, the still young elf prince sat quietly in a tree, blowing the horn call of retreat. He saw as one elf fell under a barrage of arrows and throwing blades. The expression of pain, yet resignation, on his visage would haunt the prince of Mirkwood for many a night.

So another died.

The cool, clear sound of the horn was a tone that gave the elves a chance to run. The trees trembled as the remaining six jumped down and ran for safety. Legolas was the last to run, for anger at his follower's demise was burning hot in his soul.

But ran he did, and he did not stop until the whole of the remaining company took refuge in a small cave that undercut a short cliff face.

"What have we lost?" He demanded shortly, in Sindarin, the language of his family.

"Merebrian has died," An older female, named Imarades, spoke up, "Our arrows run short, for the wood of the trees and fallen branches are too rotten for us to craft new.  Supplies run low, as does bandages."

Legolas' hand unconsciously went to his cheek. He thankfully remembered that elves did not scar, or he would have still borne a long mark for the rest of that Age. If he survived, of course…

"My lord, a rider approaches!" 

The cry pulled all from their shelter, and they took refuge in the trees above. 

Legolas remembered all the battles that had begun over this forest, his home, the place where he had been raised. Much blood had been spilt, considering the amount of Elves who had begun this rebellion had counted to forty-three at the beginning of that last year.

The horse carried its rider over the old path, almost directly underneath them. The dark haired rider glanced around, then looked up, searching with clear, elven eyes, and a fair face wrought with concern.

"Prince Legolas, I bring word from Rivendell, home of Elrond Half-Elven!" He called into the trees, "There is to be a council of great importance. Your father, Thranduil, Elf-King, wishes your presence to be known at the home of his friend."

Legolas, despite a resisting grab at his tunic by Imarades, landed silently on the trail behind the rider, who whirled swiftly.

"Give me proof that it is my father's wish that I attend this Council," Legolas stared coldly at the elf, which, in all likelihood, despite his long life, had probably never fought in as many battles as he. His eyes stunned the rider for a moment.

"I—I carry this ring as proof of my credibility," He tossed a golden ring high into the air. Legolas, without moving a muscle in the most of his body, snatched it cleanly out of the air.

It held the mark of his family, and was the same ring his mother had worn so long ago.

"Convinced I am of your truth, but why," He responded, slipping the simple, yet elegant ring of gold onto his finger.

"Isildur's Bane, the Great Ring, has been found!" The rider cried. His patience would hold no longer. Instead, he dropped an envelope onto the old forest path and galloped past Legolas. The elf prince's hair was barely ruffled, as he stood motionless.

"Elves not of Mirkwood cannot stand the evil that has corrupted this forest," He said to his friends, as they landed down from the trees, "We are fortunate in that one respect."

"What respect might that be, my Prince?" An elf that held the short bow of a human scout leaned against a tree.

"Evil cannot affect us, for we have become immune," The young prince ripped open the envelope carefully. Even battle could not take his innate dexterity from him. As he read, the handwriting became clear. It was the hand of his father, written in the language of the High-Elves, the Quenya.

What might have become a joyous time became solemn. Legolas had not heard from the Elf-King for many a year, since the first attack upon Amon Thranduil.

"The _Tawar-Maethor shall go to Rivendell," He announced finally._

Hooves pounded the dusty forest trail like the beating of elvish hearts. The steeds' breath came heavily, as they galloped faster and faster, carrying their owners farther from the depths of evil.

The wind raced by the elves' heads, but the cowls they wore covered their hair. Meant for no more than protection and hiding, those cloaks had been made from the hands of the old seamstress of Amon Thranduil, making them a link to the past.

Legolas' eyes searched the trail before him, as they rode on, dodging tree after tree. Many great timbers had fallen, either to the orcish axe or to the rotting roots. The smell of decaying wood was overwhelming.

The hooves pounded hard into the ground. In ordinary circumstances, they would have ridden quietly, keeping their beats light and their presence unknown. But, now, time was of the utmost importance. A breakaway run had been voted upon by all.

Even as they rode, the solid rhythm of the hooves was mingled with the thick, hollow thudding of orcish drums. The blows increased in intensity as the orcs neared on their wolf mounts.

"Imarades! Mierawen! Tiranien! Ride ahead! Break for the Old Forest Road!" Legolas cried. But he knew that the orcs were too close. The wolves may not catch up that day, but they would most certainly overtake them that night.

A cry of pain and surprise caught him off guard. The elf which was so elite with the human short bow had been struck in the back. The arrowhead protruded from his chest.

Legolas reached out to catch the elf before he fell. Being caught under the hooves of a galloping horse was not a forgiving death.

His arm wrapped around the elf's shoulders, and he laid him over the saddle before him. It was a painful position, but it was the only option he had. When he rode around a corner, his horse barely skidded to a stop in time.

A long, thin wire had been stretched across the path, dooming anyone who rode into it with enough force. Mierawen and Imarades, the only elven women remaining in the forest of Mirkwood, lay dead, their heads lying far separated from their bodies.

Tiranien had avoided the wire, as did the rider behind Legolas. Time would not allow them to rest, so they cut the deadly wire. Tiranien quickly laid the women's cloaks over them, reuniting their severed heads. His eyes misted with tears, for the beautiful Mierawen had been betrothed to him for nigh unto a century.

"Come, we must ride!" Nithanien, the other, his hand well skilled in the art of the blade, rode away from the sight, his cowl deep over his head. 

Legolas and Tiranien followed closely, their only hope for survival being a fast ride to the Old Forest Road. The prince took one last look at the covered body of his advisor and rode on, dedicated to survive in her memory.


	2. After The Storm...

Edredhel, the one who had been shot, survived with his will to live stronger than his will to fight. Now, the four remaining elves, Legolas, Tiranien, Edredhel, and Nithanien, all rode hard for the pass near the Ettenmoors. 

From there, they would ride, almost in total safety, to the elven refuge of Rivendell. The orcs that overran Mirkwood never left the boundaries of the trees, so great was their fear of the open space. Silvian elves quenched their cautiousness at large, open places, and Legolas, being a Sindarin, still felt as his friends did.

Legolas glared at the elven guard who stood in their way. Could he not see that he was the one they had sent for?

"I cannot allow you into the refuge of Rivendell. So has it been commanded by the Istari, Mithrandir," The guard said, his face solidly set, "You will wait here, or return to the place from whence you came."

"Fine. We wait," Nithanien was the first off his steed. He winced when he touched the ground, for an old wound, poisoned and healing slowly, flared up in pain of renewing. Tiranien was the first to his side, and he helped his friend to the small house that the guard led them to. Edredhel followed, his arm bound tightly to his side.

Legolas cared for the horses. As he did so, he shed the cloak he wore and hung it on a peg. He kept his weapons on his back, however, for in Mirkwood, one was never found without a weapon or two at a quick and convenient disposal.

He whispered to the horses in Quenya, as that was the language that was chosen to be spoken by his family when they were alone. He removed all the saddles and brushed them down gently, all the while speaking quietly.

"Prince Legolas?" It was the guard from before. Legolas' eyes hardened again, "Mithrandir has asked for the presence of you and your friends at the home of Elrond. But first, he asks that you be cleansed."

"Cleansed?!" Legolas burst out, startling the solid warrior. With a mutter of anger and disgust, he stalked past the elf, snatching his cloak on the way.

_That was pathetic, Legolas. You are allowing your childish anger to rule your mind. You are not in a war any more. Act like it, He admonished himself. If there was one thing that he would not accept, that would be the admonishment of his own mind, turning against him._

Legolas stalked past the guardhouse. He headed towards the sound of a river, hoping to wash his face and find peace. Long had he wished for a quiet time besides an unspoiled river, but there were none in his home forest.

The water was fresh and cool as he splashed his face. For once, he noticed the severe contrast of his hair and skin against what he had looked like so long ago. All his hair was pulled back now, in a fastening of leather. A dirt smudge marred his forehead. 

_Cleansing, humph._

Edredhel was the first to see the elven prince return to the guardhouse. They all had agreed to the cleansing, and had received their mended and cleaned clothes. The elf, whose back was almost totally healed, stood at the top of the steps, almost in shock.

Legolas stood before him, his hair down and braided as it had been so long ago. The traveler's robe he wore was one that had not been seen for nigh on sixty years.

"Edredhel, is your jaw stuck open or is there an elven woman standing behind me?" Legolas' eyes twinkled as they had not for so many years, "Come, tell the guard that all have been cleansed, and we seek entrance to the home of Elrond."

"Aye, my prince," A few seconds after the elf had disappeared back into the small home, the guard, plus the Elves of Mirkwood, emerged into the afternoon sunlight. The guard smiled, almost unnoticeably.

Legolas found all their horses, together with the guard's, already saddled and ready to fly. The guard had known of his response before. These Rivendell elves were not to be taken lightly…

As they galloped quickly, Legolas' eyes surveyed the unspoiled beauty of Rivendell. He felt dirty and uncouth compared the beauty that lay before him, and his companions felt the same, for they all averted their eyes slightly, the same as he.

But when they rode into the courtyard of the House of Elrond, Legolas looked up, so as to see the beauty that had stood for so much longer than a human could imagine. As he surveyed the wonders of Imladris, Tiranien took the reigns from his hands, allowing him to begin up the stairs to the Lord Elrond's reception chamber.

"Ah, Legolas, son of my friend, Thranduil," Elrond stood by a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, "Your arrival was not delayed by the Istari's request?"

"Only my dignity was left at the gate," Legolas admitted. He was not going to be subjected by a king of a refuge ignorant to the horrors he had seen, but he would respect him as a child would an elder.

"It was necessary, for we know not if your body and heart are clean of the evils that prevail in the deeps of Mirkwood," Elrond turned to face him, "I know that you are still young, but experienced in the way of survival. Your father assures me that this is so."

"I fail to see the relevance to summoning me, of all elves, to a Council."

"You are a being who knows the minds of orcs, and the way they think," Elrond looked at the clothing that he wore, still whole, but stained darkly in a few places, "Your clothing will be given unto you once you have had a chance to rest."

"My clothing?" Legolas looked down and saw nothing out of place. He had been wearing these clothes for near sixty years. They would serve him well for another forty.

"I am afraid that you cannot be presented to the council wearing such clothing," The elven lord rested his hand on the prince's shoulder, "If you intend to leave the war in Mirkwood behind, for the time being, and become a part of the world, you must strive to become a civilized elf once again."

Legolas pulled away as if stung. Had he been fighting and surviving for so long, just to forget his heritage? He was an elf, of course he was going to dress and act as one. But being chastised for things he could not change at that time…

"I will send a servant to take you to your chambers. Your friends are already being attended to," Elrond turned back to the balcony. Legolas left the room and was immediately taken by a woman elf to a good sized chamber.

Once alone, he went to the balcony. The beauty of this place…it reminded him of what Mirkwood once was. The elven prince sank to his knees and wept.

"This elf you spoke of," Aragorn, son of Arathorn, spoke quietly to Gandalf, the Istari, as they stood in the corner of a rather good sized reception chamber, "He had been encompassed by evil for almost sixty years. How can we trust that his mind has been untainted?"

"We cannot know until our eyes have seen him and our hearts have sensed him," Gandalf smiled, "If he is evil, we will feel it flow from him. However, if he is still solid in his heritage, he would be a great warrior to have by our side."

Elrond, who was standing almost nervously at the edge of the balcony, turned, "His mind is in a mindset of war and death. I have heard the tale of what he sacrificed to come here at this time."

"What was sacrificed, Lord Elrond?" Aragorn inquired, coming out of the shadows to sit in the sunlight.

"His advisor and his companion Tiranien's betrothed were both killed ere they came," He closed his eyes, "Both women, and both struck down by a dishonorable trick. Their deaths were swift, from what has been told, but the result was gruesome."

A servant carefully opened the door, "My lord, Prince Legolas is here, at your command."

"Send them in," Elrond, Gandalf, and Aragorn stood straight, with the sunlight streaming in, as they waited for their first glimpse of this famed elven prince.

He was not what they expected. Over his Sindarin style traveling clothes, which were obviously not what he had fought so long in, he wore a long-vest, a kind of robe. The moss green of the fabrics set off the strange radiance of his hair and eyes.

The long-vest barely brushed the floor as he stepped into the room. The servant closed the door behind him. When the handle latched, he looked back, as if unaccustomed to the sound.

"Prince Legolas, you are well?" Elrond inquired.

"As well as can be expected," He responded truthfully.

"This is Gandalf, also known as Mithrandir, the Istari," The dark haired elven lord gestured to the old wizard, who smiled. The blank, but respectful look on Legolas' face changed not as he bowed in reverence.

"And Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and descendant of Isildur," Elrond watched closely the expression of Legolas. 

The elven prince's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the name, but he said nothing. A simple bow ended the moment of discomfort. 

"You sent for me, Lord Elrond?" He said quietly.

"Yes, for two reasons," The dark haired elf motioned for them all to sit, "As you have no doubt been told, Isildur's Bane has been found."

"I am aware of this, yes," Legolas sat tentatively, his back straight.

"Then you also know that it must be destroyed," At Legolas' nod, he continued, "You are the youngest of us who has great battle experience. You know the minds of evil, and you have held it back for sixty years with naught but a handful of warriors."

"And you want my companions and I to accompany the Ringbearer," Legolas finished for him, in a quiet way.

"If you would be willing, yes," Elrond's eyes narrowed, "But the Dwarves have also insisted on send a representative. Gimli, son of Gloin, is to join this Company as well."

Legolas chuckled slightly, "Orcs, I can handle with ease. But a mission on the same side of the conflict as a Dwarf? You ask much, Lord Elrond, for my father is the Elf-King who imprisoned his father so long ago."

"Did you not also fight side-by-side in the Battle of the Five Armies?" Aragorn interrupted. Legolas' face went dark.

"Yes, we fought, but I was not one to drop my weapon to protect him," The elf shot back.

"Peace," Gandalf slammed his staff into the floor, "You fight as if children."

"The second reason, Lord Elrond?" Legolas glared daggers at Aragorn, who glared back.

"The second reason is, that Mirkwood is lost and there is no reason for you to die in a useless struggle," Legolas' eyes widened, but, when he tried to stand up in indignity, Gandalf's staff at his chest kept him in his seat, "You father agrees with me, young elf. He does not wish to see his son die in a corrupt place."

"But it is my home!" Legolas batted Gandalf's staff away, "Mithrandir! You, of all people, must understand! I cannot just leave my home to ruin!"

Gandalf retracted his staff and leaned against it. His face was painted with uncertainty.

"It is already ruin, my dear friend," Gandalf said, "You will not abandon it, no, but every second the One Ring is still whole, the forces of Dol Guldur and Sauron grow stronger. The only way you can save your home now is to help us destroy the Ring."

"Then go, I will, and my friends will accompany me," Legolas stood, "You have my bow to use as your own, Mithrandir. If it is the will of the Council, the last of the _Tawar-Maethor will see it done."_

"I am not the one you must swear allegiance to, dear Legolas," Gandalf stood, and Aragorn with him, "Let us go and introduce you to whom you will be traveling with and to whom you must swear to protect."

Elrond smiled after they left. He knew now that Legolas still held a civilized and solid mind. He would not fail them, for his soul was too strong.


	3. Into the Unforgiving...

Frodo looked up from his game with Merry, Pippin, and Sam to see Gandalf, Strider, and a strange, new elf approaching from Elrond's reception chamber. He quickly alerted the others, and they stood, ready to greet their friends. Off to the side, Gimli and his father conversed in hushed tones.

"Gandalf!" He smiled, and the Ring thumped against his chest, under his shirt, "How went the meeting?"

"Very well," Gandalf looked back at the new elf, which seemed to be watching Merry and Pippin trade pinches and 'oh-it-was-not-me' looks, "This is Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, the Elf-King of Mirkwood."

"The same who imprisoned me so long ago, yes?" Gloin, his large frame still strong and heavy, stepped forward. 

"Aye, Master Gloin, his son," Strider responded.

"I know not if my son can travel with the son of my enemy," The dwarf lord glared.

"How can my father be your adversary if you have not seen him past sixty years?" Legolas said quietly, "Mithrandir, I will accompany you, no matter who else is part of our Company."

Gimli stepped forward, "I, too, will see this to the end! No matter if there is an elf at my side when it happens!"

Frodo looked at them, "I had no idea that the hate between elves and dwarves ran this deep."

"It matters not to me," Sam jumped forward, "Dwarves are good with axes and are very strong, and Frodo, Elves are known for their wisdom, archery, and dexterity. It would be good if we could have them both with us."

"My companions will also be complements to the quest, for we are four in number," Legolas nodded, "You are the Ringbearer?"

Frodo was slightly taken aback by his abrupt question, but he nodded, "Yes, I carry the Ring."

"You already have my sword at your disposal," Aragorn nodded.

"Then, if the heir of Isildur can swear his sword in the service of a hobbit Halfling, then my weapon will stand beside his," Gimli said gruffly, "You have my axe, young hobbit."

"And my bow," Legolas said quietly, "Now, please excuse me, for preparations must be made."

Frodo watched him walk off, "Gandalf, he walks so strangely, like a wind upon the grass. Why is this so? He seems so sad, so much more than the others."

"His home, Mirkwood forest, has been overrun by orcs," The old wizard nodded, "Many of his people have been killed, and he has been fighting with a small handful of elves against the forces of Dol Guldur for close to sixty years now."

Frodo looked after Legolas with eyes filled with pity, "How many of his people are left?"

"Just he and his three companions. Two women, great elves in their own rights, were killed in the attempt to escape Mirkwood and reach Rivendell," At Gandalf's words, even Gimli had nothing to say or scoff at.

Sam looked around, "Where's Merry and Pippin?"

Edredhel finished pulling on his over-tunic and robe. They had received permission to escort the Ringbearer. This would be a mission that would most certainly be less dangerous than trying to live in Mirkwood.

"Nithanien," He called for his friend, who emerged from Tiranien's room, "How is he?"

"A death of grief is far too close for him to attempt another mission right now," Nithanien shook his fair elven head, "I fear that he may not come with us. If the choice was mine, I would stay here until my heart had healed."

"Then stay he will," Legolas entered the commons room of their separate chambers, "For I fear that this will be a trying quest indeed."

"Mierawen was a dear friend to us all," Nithanien said, "As was Imarades. But we cannot forsake our duties. Tiranien will stay, while we go on, perhaps to death, perhaps not. Who can know the future, save the stars?"

"Go, and ready yourselves, for we leave soon in the morning," Legolas sighed, "That is, if the humans from Gondor arrive as they planned tonight."

"Can we trust them, Legolas?" Edredhel asked, leaning on the back of a couch, "Can we trust our lives to these—humans, Halflings, and wizards? There is to be a dwarf in our presence as well!"

"We can and we will, Edredhel," The prince nodded, "For I have already sworn to protect the Ringbearer. My bow and life are at his service. If you do not wish to commit yourselves, you do not need to, and I would not force you."

"You swear to protect the Ringbearer, and it would not do to have his friends unprotected," Nithanien's eyes narrowed, "But I will swear not to protect a human, or a dwarf."

"Then protect his friend Halflings, for there are three in numbers," The elven prince sank into one of the couches, "Much is to be done before we can be accepted, my friends."

"Accepted into what?" Edredhel asked.

"Society," He sighed, "We have lived for so long under rotting trees and alone that we have forgotten what we truly are. We must strive to become elven once again."

Nithanien smiled widely, "Then let us become civilized! Onward, and into the challenge!"

"Onward!" Edredhel raised his fist with a smile. Nithanien matched his fist and crossed his own with it in the air. Legolas rose and added his fist to the salute.

"Onward," He smiled and laughed for the first time in sixty years.

Merry and Pippin wandered around Rivendell for a time. They had seen much of the Elven refuge, and were stunned by the miraculous beauty of it. But they did not find whom they were searching for.

"Merry, I see him! The elf prince!" Pippin pointed to a group of three elves who sat in the garden of Elrond. They seemed less than subdued as they laughed and smiled, trading jests in the language of the Sindar.

"Shall we speak to him?" Merry wondered out loud, and then the elven prince saw them. The smile on his face melted into one of recognition and he waved for them to approach.

"You are the Ringbearer's friends," He said.

"Frodo? Yes, he's our cousin," Merry spoke up as he was offered a seat next to one of the newer elves.

"His name is Merry, and I am Pippin," The Took carefully, but eagerly sat beside the other elf.

"We are pleased to meet you," The one sitting by Merry smiled, "I am Edredhel, and my friend here is…"

"Nithanien," They traded handshakes, something that the elves hesitated to do at first, "How is it that you were searching for us?"

"Well, we wanted to see you again," Merry turned red, "And, well, we've never really—_seen—elves before, and we just wanted to…"_

"Ah, my small friend, you need not explain further," Legolas smiled.

"You don't seem to be as sad and angry as you did before," Pippin said, then slapped his hands over his mouth, as if he had said something to insult, "I mean—"

Nithanien rested his hand on the Took's shoulder, "We have been cut off from the world of others for so long, and it took us a while to readjust, to become what we once were. Now, instead of hate, we laugh. Is that so strange?"

"No, definitely not!" Merry jumped in excitedly. He was going to ask another question when they all heard the clear ringing of a call for them to go to the dinner table. For the first time, they noticed how late it really was.

"Merry! Pippin!" Sam and Frodo called for their friends as they stood above, on the garden terrace.

"Go, my young friends, join your cousin," Legolas smiled.

"You must come!" Merry stood, as did Pippin, "Supper is for you, as well! Everyone needs to eat! Come on!"

The hobbit's excitement seemed to be slightly infectious, as all three elves stood. Their over-tunics were moss green, like that of the beautiful forest, nearly hid them against the backdrop of the garden. The hobbits quickly led the way up to the terrace, where Frodo and Sam were waiting.

"Frodo, Sam," Merry bounced a little, then calmed down as he strode up to them, "These are the elves that will be coming with us, to protect us."

Frodo looked up uncertainly at the elves, but smiled anyway.

"I am Nithanien," The elf knelt to Frodo's height, and Edredhel did the same.

"And I am called Edredhel," They nodded their heads to him, "The fourth of our party, called Tiranien, will not be able to escort you, but we will do all we can to protect you and your friends."

"Thank you, friend elves," Frodo smiled and looked over at Sam.

"Our prince has bound his skills to you, Frodo, and that accounts to you as well, Samwise," Nithanien said, "And it would not do to simply protect you, if your friends are in danger."

Merry looked at Pippin, confused, when Nithanien and Edredhel knelt before them.

"You have our skills to protect you, young Halflings," Nithanien said, "This is a vow not easily broken, but you must do as you can to allow us to keep our oath. Will you accept our protection?"

Nithanien's twinkling blue eyes met Pippin's innocent green-brown. Edredhel's sharp moss green met Merry's light blue. In an instant, a feeling of complete trust passed between them, and the hobbits nodded in unison.

"Thank you, Nithanien," Surprising the elf, Pippin jumped forward and gave the elf a big hug. Stunned, Nithanien knew not what to do or how to react, but he carefully embraced the hobbit in return. Then, he winced, as the old, poisoned wound stung.

"Thank you as well, Edredhel," Merry stuck out a hand. Edredhel nearly jumped away, for perhaps he thought that he would have been attacked by this hobbit as well. Instead, he calmed and shook his hand.

"Master Samwise, I truly wish that Tiranien could have been here to swear his loyalty to you, but his betrothed was killed," Legolas knelt to their level, "He has much healing to do before he can call himself whole once again. Is this acceptable?"

"You and I shall be protectors of one, then," Sam grinned widely, "Because he's going nowhere without me. And that is the truth."

The clear ringing of Legolas' laughter was soon joined by the hobbits, and his friend's chuckles.

They entered the dining hall, as friends. Gandalf and Aragorn watched the group of six in partial astonishment as they took seats near each other and began to quietly share stories.  The hobbits listened, spellbound and excitedly, to the elves' calm rendition of their adventures.

Even after the food had been eaten and the dishes cleared from the table, the elves and hobbits continued to trade stories. Even some of the Rivendell elves stood or sat nearby, listening intently.

Aragorn turned to Gandalf, "I believe that I have misjudged him. He still has the heart of an elf, and a young one at that."

"Yet he has the maturity to see when it is needed," Gandalf nodded, "Yes, he is much the same as when I met him first, when he was barely twenty years old."

"You have known him for that long?" Aragorn looked at the Istari, "I knew you were old, Gandalf, But I did not know how old."

"It is no matter, for now arrive the humans of Gondor," Gandalf stood and left the room, leaving Aragorn with the story-telling hobbits, as they had been asked to share their experiences now. Sighing, he stood and moved to sit closer, listening.

The night was filled with laughter and jest, as the hobbits regaled them with the tales, folklore, and legends of their people. Even after Boromir, and his escort, the humans from Gondor, entered, he was greeted with warmth and an invitation to join them.

After the conversation had dissolved, they all went their certain ways. Boromir and Aragorn spoke together, of Gondor, the sword of Narsil, and of the Quest of the Ring. Because time was so short, there would be no formal Council, for all knew the gravity of the situation.

Aragorn approached Legolas soon after most had left, "Legolas, a question has been weighing on my mind for a long time, and I wish to ask you sooner rather than later."

"Then ask, for I shall answer to the best of my ability," Legolas turned away from the railing.

"Why is it that you call yourself the _Tawar-Maethor as if it were your race? Are you not Sindarin and your friends Silvian?" He tipped his head to the side, inquisitive, yet sensitive to the emotions of the elf. He did not wish to alienate the elf._

The elven prince shrugged without his shoulders, if that was possible, "When we chose to stay in Mirkwood, we become of a race like none other. We could not bring ourselves to call our rebellion of one race. So we became the _Tawar-Maethor, the Forest-Warriors."_

Aragorn nodded, "Thank you."

As he turned to walk away, Legolas said, "Glad to ease your mind, friend."

Before the human could turn, the elven prince had disappeared from the room, most likely back to his chambers. Without anything else to do, the man known as Strider rejoined Gandalf at the long table, intending to speak to him of the unpredictability of the elves.

And so, the next morning, the Fellowship and their three elven companions left the safety of Rivendell.


	4. Unmerciful Roads...

They soon entered a forest, through which they would have to travel in order to reach the Gap of Rohan. Nithanien, Edredhel, and Legolas all had their bows ready and nocked, prepared for any sort of attack.

Nithanien, who strode farthest front, let out a soft, bird-like whistle. Legolas motioned for all the others to stop, and then he and Edredhel quickly joined their friend.

"A battalion of orcs," Nithanien's shoulders sagged and his voice nearly cracked, "And they are from Mirkwood. They carry the cloaks of Mierawen and Imarades on stakes before them."

"I am glad that Tiranien is not here to see this, for his heart would have shattered at this sight," Legolas' sharp eyesight found the slowly moving group of creatures that seemed to know exactly where they were, "We must hurry, for they will find our trail if we do not."

The three elves strode back to the group, and Legolas announced, "There is a battalion of orcs, forty in number, heading this way. We have confirmed them to be of Mirkwood."

"How do you know this?" Boromir asked, his shield resting comfortably on his back.

"They—" For once, Legolas was empty of words, "They carry the cloaks of my advisor and Tiranien's betrothed on stakes before their company. We have identified them thus."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Gimli growled, "Let us hasten to the Mountains."

The Fellowship of Eight seemed, to Legolas, to be missing something, "I feel as if there were something missing from your Fellowship."

"Your Fellowship? Legolas, you are the ninth member of our Company of the Ring," Gandalf leaned against his staff, "And, as such, you have been deemed so by Elrond himself."

"Let us avoid death, and then take the time to ponder the words of the lord of Rivendell, hmm?" Aragorn broke in suddenly, "It will not do us good to go forward and be captured."

Legolas held back a growl of anger, remembering that he was not in Mirkwood anymore. Instead, he knocked an arrow and let it fly.

The orc scrabbled uselessly at the shaft lodged in its throat as it died.

"Then let us go forward, my friends, and be caught by the flanking of the orcs," The elvish prince glared, "For there is no worse death then that of a torture at the hands of the Mirkwood defilers. Nithanien, Edredhel, lead them around while I dispose of the body."

"Be cautious, my prince, for they are far more adept in tracking the scent of their own," After his words of warning, Edredhel ran to catch up to the now quickly moving Fellowship, led by Nithanien.

"We meet at the edge of the River Loudwater!" Legolas called softly, and his friend nodded to affirm that he understood. Then, he turned to the task at hand.

It did not take long to hide the body, but the stench of the orcish blood and sweat was almost overwhelming. No matter how hard he tried, he could not remove the stench from his hands. If that smell was so strong, they could track him easily…

The sounds of heavily breathing, growling orcs came closer. The elf prince suddenly felt hunted, like he did in Mirkwood, trapped, smothered…

His breath became short as his own buried fears surfaced. But he could _not fail!_

The panic that overtook his proved to be a driving source. He broke away from the hiding place and ran as fast as his elvish legs could take him, following the trail of his friends, towards the River Loudwater.

The cry of discovery rang behind him as a scout stumbled over the hastily hidden body of his friend. A war cry ensued as the orcs turned, the whole battalion spinning to pursue their new prey. 

Legolas only prayed that they had reached the shores of the River, even Aragorn, the stubborn, bull-headed human. From there, they could easily escape cross-river. 

An arrow shot past his head. A quick glance behind him nearly caused himself to stumble.

Some rode wolves, which he could not outrun.

Ahead, the inviting sunlight glimmered of the surface of the still distant river. An arrow shot past his ear, the fletching burning his skin. He dodged to one side as another arrow shot past his right…

…And ran straight into another arrow.

The shaft buried itself in his arm, above the back of his elbow. Legolas cried out in pain, but did not stop, though his feet stumbled. The orcs were much smarter than he gave them credit for. Such a simple pincher attack and he had missed it.

He broke free from the forest and spun, shooting arrows off rapidly. Wolves fell, and their riders followed. Other riders leapt over the dead bodies, intent on the hunt. The black arrow that stuck from his arm pained him as they drew near.

Legolas glanced back at the river. Here, there was a great, sloping bank, one that, if he fell, he would not stop until he was either dashed on the rocks or plunged into the water.

A wolf dove at him, knocking his own rider off in the process. The fangs locked onto his arms.

The blue fletched arrows of Nithanien flew through the air, slicing the wolf's throat. But the attack had done its damage. Legolas was thrown back, over the edge of the slope.  He slid most of the way, on his back, headfirst. The arrow shaft in his arm was caught in the dirt and snapped off, just above the arrowhead. 

Fate was fickle with his life, for behind him, a large rock loomed. If he avoided it, he might be safe and land in the water, but if he hit it, he could be unconscious by the time he hit the surface of the river.

Fate must hate him.

He hit the rock, solidly, his head contacting with the stone. The wolf's body soon followed him into the water of the river.

"Legolas!"

Nithanien cried out, his face a visage of fear. He did not care if the dwarf could see him grieve. He strapped his bow to his back and plummeted down the side of the slope, staying on his feet. He executed a perfect dive into the water, near where his prince had disappeared.

Edredhel watched fearfully from where he ran, close to the edge of the river. He waited, searching for any sign of his friends.

Aragorn and Boromir soon reached his side.

"Has he found him yet?" Boromir demanded.

Nithanien resurfaced, about twenty feet offshore, "I could not find him! He is gone!"

Edredhel's face fell. He bent to help his friend out of the water when a clear laugh rang over the water. The two elves and two humans looked up, gazing across the width of the Riven Loudwater.

Legolas leaned against a tree, laughing. He held his injured arm tightly, "I am honored that you hold my life in such high respect, my friends! Nithanien, I had no idea that you could dive that well!"

Boromir began to chuckle and took his leave. While he strode up the slope, Aragorn followed, shaking his head in disbelief and slight peevishness. Legolas dove into the water and swam back to their side. Edredhel and Nithanien helped him out of the water.

"I do thank you for trying to save me," He nodded to his friends, then winced, his eyes narrowing in pain.

"It is a painful wound, but it should heal quite soon," Nithanien stated stiffly.

"Ah, my friend, do not seem so angry," Legolas sighed, his mood of gaiety disappearing quickly, "The battalion of orcs will be overcoming us at any time. We must move on, across the river."

A few miles down, the Fellowship crossed over an old wooden log. Gimli hacked off the roots and shoved it to float downriver, so as to cut off the orcs' route to their side of the river.

"That was a foolish feat you attempted, Legolas," Aragorn walked beside him.

"It was not a feat at all, merely a maneuver of survival," the elven prince's eyes narrowed as he fingered the cloth he wrapped around his elbow wound.

"No matter what the name, it was a stupid thing to do," The heir of Isildur seemed angry, "You could have been killed, and then what? We return to your father and tell him that foolhardiness, not orcs, killed his son?"

The rage of Mirkwood flared in Legolas' blood. He spun and backhanded Aragorn across the face, angry, "You speak of thing that you do not know! Death would have been a far better fate for me, had it come during the Battle of the Five Armies!"

By now, everyone had stopped and begun to stare as the two faced off.

"Have you ever felt the depression of guilt as you fight, knowing that there is no chance that victory can be yours?" Legolas said quietly, his face emotionless, "Have you touched the depths of grief and cried because a death of sorrow would not come? Or that an arrow did not take your life?"

Aragorn was silent as he wiped blood from a broken lip.

"I care not for you, for the dwarf, nor for any creature in this Fellowship," He spat out the last word, "I am here because I have sworn to protect the Ringbearer with my bow, and with my life."

"Legolas, let it go," Nithanien and Edredhel stood beside their prince, "He does not understand."

The three elves turned away and began to walk. The hobbits followed soon after, then Boromir and Gimli followed. Gandalf hesitated for a second, the continued, leaving Aragorn to choose whether he was to follow or stay.

Many days later, they reached a large grouping of white rocks, where they decided to rest for a while. Boromir playfully sparred with Merry and Pippin, while Sam and Frodo sat by, watching. Aragorn called out advice every once in a while.

Gimli conversed tersely with Gandalf, leaving the three elves to stand alone, separated from the others.

"You did not need to strike him," Edredhel insisted.

"I was just angry," Legolas sighed.

"You said we must act like elves, in civilization, and, around these, we _are in civilization," Nithanien said, "We cannot allow our anger to overtake us."_

Legolas looked out across the hills and mountains, "I will no longer live by instinct."

"What?" Nithanien looked at him strangely.

"We have been living by instinct for so long, that is what has been keeping me from truly becoming my calm, serene self," He peered at the horizon and uncrossed his arms, "Nithanien, Edredhel, tell me what you see."

Three pairs of elven eyes gazed at the clouds, inquiring at the strange, black shaped cloud that seemed to move against the wind.

"Crebaine! From Dunland!" Legolas cried, raising the alarm. Everyone's eyes spotted the strange cloud. The disbanding of camp moved quickly, until all traces of their stay was erased. They hid, hoping to avoid the eyes of the crow-spies.

They passed soon after.

"The passage south is being watched," Gandalf sighed, "We cannot take the Gap of Rohan, for Saruman could yet be watching."

_Saruman…_

All three elves knew that name well.

"We must take the pass of Caradhras!"

The snow blew angrily at Boromir's face as he trudged through the deadly snow. What had he been thinking?

_That was just it. I was not, He chastised himself, __I was not thinking. I will avoid that Ring, else it lead me to my destruction. He had become transfixed by that bloody Ring before, and it seemed to call to him. It was demonic, and he wanted no part of it anymore._

"Boromir, can you continue?"

The voice of Edredhel, one of the elves, broke into his thoughts. It was the same elf who had snatched the Ring from the snow before he had a chance to stoop and pick it up.  He had watched this elf hand it over to the Halfling with no more thought to it being anything more than a mere gesture.

"Aye, I have been through worse," He nodded and continued to trudge on, envying the elvish ability to walk on the snow.

"I believe you," Edredhel straightened and kept walking.

Boromir noticed that something was terribly wrong. Legolas and Nithanien had stopped before them, listening intently to the wind.

"There is a foul voice on the air," Legolas said over the wind's cry.

"It is Saruman!" Gandalf cried as the words suddenly became very clear.

There was a great rumbling, and Legolas had to dive out of the way of a falling rock. Nithanien nimbly avoided it. Gandalf rose to the top of the snow, standing on a boulder, his staff outstretched to the elements.

He cried out in some ancient tongue, calling for a spell to counteract Saruman's powers. Instead, a loud _crack was heard, and a landfall of thousands of pounds of snow began to rush towards their heads. Legolas dove forward to pull Gandalf back from the edge._

Boromir jumped forward to protect the two hobbits, Merry and Pippin, before the avalanche overtook him as well.

It pressed in all around him, cutting off his air. He was suffocating.

He felt the weight being slowly lifted from him then hands gently grabbed at his shoulders. He and the two hobbits were dug out by a concerned looking Edredhel, who carefully pulled the hobbits from his grasp.

"Thank you," He pulled his shield from the snow and dusted it off as more snow was driven into his face.

"We must make for the Gap of Rohan!" He cried.

Legolas spun when he heard Boromir's words. _The Gap…_

"No!" Gandalf said, adamant.

"We must get off this mountain, Gandalf!" Aragorn insisted, "Saruman's power is too strong here! We cannot prevail at his mercy!"

Gimli called out, "If we cannot go over the mountain, let us go under it! Let go through the Mines of Moria!"

Gandalf sat in silence. Everyone waited in silence for him to make a decision. Both Edredhel and Nithanien had never seen, nor heard of the Mines, but Legolas had both heard and seen of them. The memories of that place were deadly.

Legolas searched the eyes of all that were there. The hobbits were suffering quietly, though Pippin let out a sniffle every so often. The humans, Aragorn and Boromir, were stalwart fellows, struggling on to they knew not what end.

Gimli, of course, stood half buried under the snow, as no one had yet to fully drag him out. Nithanien had done little to merely get his head above the suffocating blanket.

"Let the Ringbearer decide."


	5. Attacked in Moria...

The lake of Moria seemed too calm for a natural body of water. It made the elves uneasy, but they would not be saying much, for everyone was nervous to some point. Save for Gimli.

Gandalf began looking for the door while Nithanien took Legolas off to the side, along with Edredhel.

"My friends, we cannot enter there," He seemed subdued for his usually restful attitude, "There is much death, much evil that waits beyond those doors."

"As I well know, Nithanien, but there will be no danger to us if we can stay silent through the dark," Legolas sighed, "I have entered Moria, once, long, very long ago. Even then, it for less than an hour. I have not even had a glimpse at what Time might bring."

"Then why must we enter? Saruman has no wrath against us," Edredhel insisted, "We could make it over the mountains alone and come together on the others side…"

Nithanien and Legolas both looked at their friend as he trailed off.

"But we cannot leave them, can we? Not even for a little," He sighed, looking over at Merry, who was content in throwing rocks into the lake, "We have sworn our protection to them, and it is here that they may need us most."

"Aye, my friends, we—" Legolas was cut off by Bill the pony's nose nudging against his back, "Oh, there, dear pony. What troubles you?"

The pony looked at him balefully and snickered, looking at the lake. The three elves watched as the recently unlaiden beast of burden approached the water and tentatively stepped in. He neighed loudly, and in fear, galloped away quickly, out of sight around the side of the lake and into the mists.

Aragorn saw this, and at Legolas glance, He snatched Pippin's arm, just as he was about to throw a rock, "Do not disturb the water. Things still are best left alone."

"Mellon,"

The loud creaking of old hinges shattered what silence there was, leaving the elves cringing. Merry and Pippin seemed very reluctant to enter, but they followed the others in anyway.

"Soon master elf you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves," Gimli seemed excited to a fault, "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir sounded as if he were on the verge of retching, "It is a tomb."

The illumination and the impulse to look at the floor sent many a mind whirling as they saw Dwarven corpses, some so close to the door, littering the ground. Legolas bent down and pulled an arrow from one of the very old corpses.

"Goblins," He announced, nocking an arrow into his bow. The other elves followed suit, and the humans drew their swords.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir said, his face set in grim lines, "We should never have come here."

A sudden cry for help seized their attention.

"Frodo!" The hobbits cried.

"Strider!" Sam and the others were attacking a long, slimy tentacle that had just snatched Frodo's foot. Nithanien and Edredhel ran forward before Legolas could stop them. A tentacle slipped out of the water and smashed them both against the wall of the mine entrance, leaving them stunned.

Legolas let an arrow fly, letting the creature in the water know that he had missed one elf. A vicious fight began as Boromir and Aragorn hacked and slashed mightily at the tentacles, striving to cut the one that held Frodo in his grasp.

The monster's gaping maw opened wide as it prepared to consume the struggling hobbit. Legolas' arrow found its mark and the creatures hold on Frodo was weakened enough to the point where he slipped away.

Boromir caught him and immediately began wading back out of the dreaded water. Legolas, who had been standing somewhat close to shore, was snatched by a flailing tentacle around the ankle.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, thinking that the elf was close behind. Already, Gimli and Gandalf had helped the others into the relative 'safety' of the mine, and he was the only one left outside.

A quick shot released him, and he ran as fast as he could into the mine. 

All light was extinguished as the Doors of Durin were destroyed.

"We now have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world," Gandalf lit a crystal shard and placed it into the twisted vines of his staff, "Quietly now. It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

They strode over long, foreboding chasms, up steep stairs, and through small tunnels. Nithanien favored his left arm, while Edredhel winced at almost every sound, so sensitive still was his head.

Many a day and night was spent traversing these roads, the most important occurrence being, on the fourth day, when Gandalf forgot his way for a moment. Then their trek resumed.

They had been walking for much of what they believed to be the day when the tunnel they followed opened into an enormous room.

"Let us risk a little more light," What opened before them was a breathtaking structure that stole even the elves' breath. It was beautiful, rugged, and monstrously strong in its beauty. The many pillars and the seeming endlessness of it all amazed them all, "Behold the great Dwarvish city of Dwarrowdelf."

"Now there's an eye-opener and no mistake," Sam muttered to himself, though Boromir nodded beside him.

"Khazad-Dûm," Edredhel mumbled.

"Hadhodrond," agreed Nithanien.

"The Black Chasm," Legolas intoned, almost ominous in his addition to the awe that pervaded them all. As they walked the depths of the monstrous subterranean city, sharp eyes noticed the many crevices and gaping holes in the ceiling and floor.

There were bodies, corpses, scattered about now, as they drew closer to a seeming source of light. Doors were set into the wall, wooden, broken down barriers that had held against many kinds of attacks. 

"Ah!" Gimli ran towards the Chamber of Mazarbul.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called after him, surprised at his sudden flight.

They entered the chamber, where stood a tomb set on a low pedestal. Gimli knelt before it in grief.

"Here lies, Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf translated the runes engraved in the stone, "He is dead then. It is as I have feared."

"We must move on," Legolas hissed to Aragorn, "We cannot linger."

Nithanien pulled Legolas off to the side, "I have a very bad feeling about his. I see no more than death and torture for us if we stay here much longer."

"I, too, feel the tinge of dread touch the edge of my heart," The elven prince admitted.

"We must leave then," The elf shuddered, "I fear for the lives of all, for Mithrandir spoke to me, assuring me that they Bridge is not far ahead."

Suddenly, the loud crashing of metal and bone against stone ripped through the air. All eyes went to Pippin, who winced as the bucket followed the formerly precariously perched skeleton in falling down the well.

Legolas sighed. 

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf snatched his hat and staff from the morose hobbit. Legolas had to hold Nithanien back from going to the hobbit and comforting him.

"Hold. It was his mistake," Legolas shook his head.

Their peace was shattered by the thunderous beats of orcish drums.

Boromir ran to the door just in time to see Edredhel fall under an orcish arrow. He grabbed the elf's collar and hauled him into the room just before another arrow thudded into the door beside his head. Aragorn and Nithanien took Edredhel further in as Boromir struggled to close the doors. Legolas assisted him.

"They have a cave troll," He said exasperatedly, as if nothing worse could happen. Legolas tossed him axe after axe, to barricade the door against the attacking horde.

"Edredhel?" Merry was knelt by the elf, "Come on, you must speak."

"He rest, Merry, to heal," Legolas called, "Nithanien, a battle ensues. Get Edredhel into a safe place. He must be safe and able to run once the battle ends."

"Ah, let them come!" Gimli cried, his blood heated by the battle close at hand, "There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!"

"Look out!" Axes cracked the already beaten door, creating larger and larger holes. Legolas quickly nocked an arrow and released smoothly. Aragorn followed, hitting the same place as the elven prince.

But their attack seemed to only enrage the orcs further. The barricade broke and they swarmed into the room. Arrows found perfect marks, Legolas' green, Aragorn's brown, and Nithanien's blue. Gimli's axe fell, and fell again, from his perch atop the tomb of his cousin.

The bite of Boromir's sword was soon well known to the orcs. He felled many, like the great warrior and prince of Gondor that he was. Aragorn soon shifted from his bow to his sword, fighting alongside his fellow human.

The hobbits seemed to hold their own quite nicely. Sam was smashing orcs left and right with his skillet, while Merry, Pippin, and Frodo fought with their short swords.

Then the cave troll demolished what was left of the door. Without hesitating, Legolas shot, releasing an arrow into the chest of the creature. It growled with an unearthly, or under-earthly, wail, and searched for an enemy.

Unfortunately, Sam was its first target. With a cry of determination mixed with fear, the hobbit dove under the troll's leg, barely avoiding the crushing attack of the troll's rock-like mace. The mace soon went after Gimli.

The tomb of Balin was crushed in half, and then the troll killed two of its own orcs in its insane frenzy to kill the dwarf. However, its attention was grabbed by another, more interesting fight that ensued on a high ledge that ran round the room.

Legolas fought with his long-knives, his bow strapped to his back. Nithanien saw the troll's attack from where he fought on the tomb's floor.

"Legolas! _Tiro!"_

Nithanien's cry did not go unnoticed. The first strike of the cave troll's whip-like chain nearly decapitated the elf, if he had not ducked at the last second. Again, the troll whipped the metal chain at him, again and again.

Legolas quickly moved towards a pillar, and nearly smiled in amusement when the chain wrapped around it, just as he had planned. He ran up the chain, and onto the creature's shoulders. He released an arrow into the monster's skull, and then quickly leaped off, landing carefully on his feet.

The troll next headed for Frodo. Legolas tried to shoot, but his arrows were deviated from their path by the need of saving his own life. A dead savior is no good to anyone.

Aragorn rushed to help the Ringbearer as the hobbit cried for help. The troll had him by the ankle.

Legolas winced as Aragorn was thrown against the wall, and subsequently knocked unconscious. The troll pulled the spear from his chest, and looked at it dumbly. Then, he renewed his efforts against the Ringbearer.

Legolas' eyes widened and his jaw opened in disbelief as the troll speared Frodo.

"Frodo? Frodo!" Sam cried.

Merry and Pippin, caring only for the revenge of their dear friend, cried out a loud war cry and leaped onto the troll's head. They began stabbing it, driving it crazy. It scrabbled for the nuisances that clung consistently to its head.

It managed to snatch Merry around the foot. The poor hobbit was thrown round the room until the creature's grip slipped, it attention drawn back to the remaining irritation that adamantly clutched onto its neck.

Another stab into its neck by Pippin, and its gaping maw opened widely in pain. Legolas shot through the roof of its mouth, successfully piercing its brain. The cave troll staggered, and then fell forward, pitching Pippin onto the ground.

One last orc remained in the room.

While Legolas leaped back to avoid getting crushed by the troll, he saw the orc aim for Boromir.

"Boromir!" 

He shoved the human back, sending him stumbling into Gandalf. The black arrow that had been meant for the human warrior now pierced _his chest._

"Legolas! No!"

Nithanien was by his prince's side instantly. Legolas collapsed to his knees, his hand pressed hard around the arrow shaft.

"No, see to the hobbits," He whispered, "See to Edredhel…"

Nithanien gently laid his prince on the ground then attended to the orders given.

"You cannot just let him lay there like that!" Boromir jumped forward, grabbing the elf's arm and shoulder. Nithanien wrenched himself away angrily, tears welling in his eyes.

"Then you attend to him, for I have been given an order!"

Boromir looked at the elf in disbelief. Nithanien looked at him, then to Legolas, who was breathing shallowly, then back to Boromir.

"Please…"

Boromir stepped around the elf and bent immediately at the prince's side. A folded square of cloth was tossed to him by Gandalf, who then went to see to Frodo. The human warrior pressed his hands around the arrow wound.

"Legolas, I need to remove this arrow," He said quietly, "Will you allow me to so this?"

Legolas' eyes were closed, but he nodded softly. One quick pull and the blood began to flow from the deep wound. Nithanien quickly returned.

"The hobbits are all right. Frodo is alive," He announced quietly, "And Edredhel can run."

"As soon will I," Legolas sat up, pressing the bandage to his chest, "Thank you, Boromir, now let us go."

"But your wound still bleeds," Boromir rocked back on his heels and ran his gloved fingers through his hair, "I do not understand the mettle of elves, nor shall I ever. Much of your kind is a mystery to even the oldest of beings."

"I shall take your words as compliment and jest," Legolas stood shakily, his head light from the loss of blood. But the wound was closing, quickly, as all wounds did with elves, though it was an orcs wound, which slowed it just slightly.

The thunderous sound of more orcs echoed in the enormous hall outside.

"Come! To the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm!" Gandalf cried.

They ran, even as Edredhel kept good pace with Gandalf, at the head of the group. Legolas stayed in pace with Aragorn, for his wound pained him. 

Orcs streamed from the holes in the floors and ceiling, and they scrabbled down the pillars like ugly, overgrown beetles, waiting to be crushed underfoot. But many there were, as Sauron had bred them in the dark, and they had multiplied long after he had left them to grow on their own.

Soon, they were surrounded quite completely. The scent of elvish blood seemed to rile them into frenzy, and a small, rat-like orc with large yellow eyes darted forward, wanting for a taste of flesh, any flesh. Legolas would allow him none, though, and his long-knife dispatched the nauseating creature.

 All that could be heard was the screeching and cackling of orcs, until a new sound broke the din.

It was a demonic sound, heavy, pounding footsteps that smashed hope with the beat of a heart. Growls accompanied it, deep, rumbling growls that made even Gimli wish that he were anywhere but there. The orcs were disturbed by the sounds as well.

They screeched in fear and scattered almost as fast as they had encroached on them, their eyes darting fearfully between the Fellowship and the red and yellow glow that approached with the sounds.

"What new devilry is this?" Boromir asked with his grip on his sword death-like.

Gandalf paused for a second, "A Balrog—a demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

They hesitated no longer. To move faster, Nithanien swept Pippin up in his strong grip, and then slipped him onto his back. Edredhel, healing quickly as all elves did, snatched Merry up in the same way. Legolas was torn between doing the same for Frodo, but that would leave Sam unprotected…

Boromir made up his mind for him. With a quick swoop, he snatched up Sam, slipping him onto his back as the elves had done. Legolas, his choice made for him, swept up Frodo.

They made it to a doorway, which Aragorn soon ducked through. He tripped and nearly fell past the edge of the demolished stairs. He would have fallen, if not for the dwarf's quick grab at his belt.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn turned back to the old wizard, who pushed away his offer at help physically, leaving the heir of Isildur confused.

"Lead them on, Aragorn. The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!" The wizard seemed far too agitated for the creature that pursued them to be an easy foe.

The Fellowship ran down the stairs quickly, with the elves that carried the hobbits in front. Edredhel never even paused when he reached the yawning gap between the sections of stair. It must have fallen years ago, for the break was old and weathered.

Nithanien followed quickly, with Pippin grinning widely. _Either he is enjoying this far too much, or he is terrified beyond rational thought, Legolas thought. He was inclined to believe more of the latter._

When Legolas jumped across, Frodo shifted, for his grip around the elf's neck was slippery from sweaty palms. This shift sent the elf off-balance, but he recovered quickly as he landed, harder than expected, but safe nonetheless.

"Gandalf," He turned and set the hobbit down.

The old wizard leapt across as a deer over water. Boromir followed soon after, Sam grasped tightly in his arms. The group began to run down the stairs as Legolas and Gandalf waited for Aragorn and Gimli to follow.

The thundering steps came closer, and the walls that stood far from them began to shudder and drop dust long unstirred. Aragorn urged Gimli to jump, but an orcish arrow thudded into the stone before he could jump.

Legolas drew his bow quickly, and began to shoot back, "Gandalf! Go! They need your wisdom to escape! I will lead these out!" 

Gandalf looked at the elf with a new respect, and then flew down the stairs. Legolas turned back to Gimli. Aragorn leapt across and reached out for the dwarf, to reassure him that two pairs of hands would be waiting to catch him.

With a loud cry, he jumped, but his feet missed the landing by a far inch.

Legolas dove, catching the dwarf's beard and wrist.

"_Not the beard!" Gimli thundered as Legolas released his facial hair and instead grabbed for his hand. His feet began to slip with the burden, but Aragorn quickly snatched Gimli's wrists as well, taking some of the weight off the elf._

But elves were not weak, as they appeared. Besides being immortal, among other things, they were very strong, though not quite comparable with dwarves. Gimli was hauled onto the stairs with little difficulty.

They ran down the rest of the stairs as the doorway they had emerged from earlier exploded outward, revealing a great, horrifying figure of flame and smoke, with enormous wings.

Fear ran through Legolas' body as they reached the end of the stairs. The creature, a Balrog, flew coyly to the base of the stairs, stepping into a large river of searing lava, as if to taunt them with its power. Seized with fear and unable to look away, Legolas' bow fell from numbed fingers.

"Legolas!" The dwarf grabbed his bow from the ground and smashed it into the elf's chest, "Run, you foolish idiot! Look not back!"

Gimli's callous words broke the spell. The Balrog growled, losing his control over the elf. Legolas, in turn, shook his head, as if to clear it of the bewitchment that had tried to take hold there. He turned and ran, with the dwarf by his side.

Gandalf stood on the nearest side of the bridge, waiting for them to cross. He followed, but stopped in the center, turning to face the demonic evil that threatened his friends and quest.

"I am the servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you! Flame of Udun!"

Frodo cried out in fear as the Balrog's sword of evil fire smashed down, shattering against a shield of light that shimmered around Gandalf. 

Legolas watched, dreading what might happen.

"Go back to the shadow!"

His fair elven heart dropped.

"YOU…"

"SHALL NOT…"

"_PASS!"_

The wizard smashed his staff into the bridge. When the light faded and nothing had happened, hope sank into the deepest parts of their souls. 

Then the Balrog took a step…

With an ear-tearing screech and a heart rending crack, the bridge crumbled. With a sigh of relief, once the adrenaline and rush of fear had subsided, the small group of humans, hobbits, elves, and one dwarf realized that Gandalf still stood, alive.

He turned and began to walk towards them.

There was the crack of a whip…

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried. Boromir dove forward to grab him around the waist, "_Gandalf!"_

"Fly, you fools," the old man said, barely loud enough to be heard.

Then he was gone.

"_NO!"_


	6. Promise of Revenge...

Legolas stumbled into the sunlight, dazed and shocked.  The hobbits collapsed onto the stones, weeping, their hearts torn. Gimli fought against Boromir's grip, enraged to the point of pure foolishness.

Nithanien far from Edredhel, though they shared a look of disbelief and pain.

Merry tried to comfort his cousin, who clutched at his sword, his face a mask of pure sorrow. Boromir managed to calm Gimli, but his own grief seemed to catch up soon, and he sat, the intensity of the moment finally catching his mind.

"Legolas, get them up," Aragorn stood ready.

Reluctantly, Legolas went to Merry and reached out, taking the hobbit's small hand in his. The usually cheerful being's face was pure agony to his elvish soul. Watching the tears touch his cheek was almost unbearable.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir cried, rising to his feet.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the Woods of Lothlórien," Aragorn sheathed his dagger, "On your feet, Sam."

"I am sorry," Legolas whispered as he gently pulled Merry to his feet. The hobbit nodded as he, in turn, helped Pippin stand. The expression on Pippin's face tore to the very center of Legolas' immortal spirit, _How__ could one feel so much sorrow and not become enraged, like Gimli? Surely these hobbits are far more special creatures that I first believed._

Soon, they were on their way, but their footsteps were laden heavy with agony and tears. Even Nithanien, the most light-footed of them, walked ploddingly, almost stumbling from time to time.

Nightfall began to encroach on the feet of the mountains, and their pace leapt from a slow walk to a gentle run. The Woods of Lothlórien stood before them, a beacon of hope in times of loss. Nithanien, Edredhel, and Legolas felt perfectly at home in the trees, but the others were less than cozy. 

"Stay close, young hobbits," Gimli warned the awestruck beings, "They say a great sorceress lives in these woods, an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell...and are never seen again."

Nithanien stifled a grin, but his laugh touched his eyes. It comforted Legolas to see his friend able to smile after what had occurred on the bridge of Khazad-Dûm.

Suddenly, they were looking down the arrows of Lothlórien elves, which also, in turn, were looking down the arrows of the _Tawar-Maethor. The beings that held back the strings stood solidly, their faces emotionless. Edredhel recognized one of the warriors, but said nothing, for fear of disturbing the peace._

"The dwarf breathes so loud; we could have shot him in the dark," An elf stood before them, his face well identifiable.

"_Haldir o Lórien.__ Henion aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn,_" Aragorn entreated the elf, "Haldir of Lórien, we come here for help. We need your protection."

Legolas and the other elves were lead away from the others, by six elven guards, dressed in white and silver. No doubt the Lady of the Golden Wood had a different purpose for them. When Caras Galadhon came into view, the white tree-like structure of her reception room glittered like diamonds in the falling night.

"Legolas, son of my kin," Celeborn, the Lord of the Golden Wood stepped forward to greet them, clasping their wrists each in turn, "I heard of the events in Greenwood the Great. I feared for your lives as you rode out of that accursed place."

"It was not always that way, my lord," Nithanien bowed before his superior, "I fear only that it may be this way for longer than I care to believe."

"No, Mirkwood will be cleansed, son of Greenwood," Celeborn nodded, "Come, you have traveled through much grief and sorrow, for tell of the death of Mithrandir had been told us. I feel as you do, my friends."

The Lord of Lothlórien led them over a solid, beautiful bridge that spanned across the trees, elevating them so very far from the ground. Under them were the floor levels of the enchanting forest, above, the canopy.

"I grieve for you, my friends," Celeborn admitted as they were shown their rooms, "Mithrandir was a friend to me as well."

"Thank you, my lord," Legolas bowed as the Lord left the room.

"What do we do now?"

Legolas turned to Nithanien, "What do you mean?"

"Gandalf has died. Only he had a glimpse of what ends this path might have," The younger elf sagged depressingly against the wall, tears beginning to well in the corners of his eyes, "He is gone now. The man who was as a friend to me."

"Nithanien, you cannot give in to a death of grief," Edredhel moved forward, "If you did, Mithrandir's death to save ours would have been wasted, and he slain for nothing. Could you accept that?"

"Ai, no," The elf wiped his eyes, "But I feel so weak. The poisoned arrow of the orcs tires me still, even after so long. I must rest, my friends, and regain what strength I have lost."

"Go then and rest," Legolas smiled, "You, Edredhel, take sleep as well, for I fear that we will not be here for long."

Once his friends were safely in their dream-trances, Legolas retreated into his room, his mind troubled. He worried for Nithanien. Not only the grievances, but the wound he still carried, a good six months old, yet still a hindrance.

Quickly, he shed his over-tunic and laid it upon the blanket on his bed. He looked at his reflection in the small pool of water that stood in a pedestal. The silken blue tunic that he had just revealed was slightly rumpled from continual traveling, but he did not feel as if he needed to wear his over-tunic any longer.

He exited the room, and began to find his way down to where the Fellowship would be. They were found quickly, and then noticed that their drinking water had shied. He drew water from a nearby spring and moved to fill the basin.

A haunting melody drifted through the trees, finding its way to their ears.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas said, tears touching his cheeks.

"What does it say?" Merry asked from his perch in the corner of their 'room.'

The elven prince hesitated, "I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near."

Retreating quickly, Legolas disappeared into the depths of Lothlórien, for he would not shed his tears in the presence of a dwarf. He strode quickly away, yet he heard heavy steps behind him. As sure as he was the prince of a torn nation, the dwarf had followed him, though he had shed his axe, helmet, and armor.

Legolas seemed slightly amused by the dwarf; as his clothes did not blend well with the environs, save for the brown tinges and dusty grey. 

"I mean to speak with you, master elf," Gimli said gruffly.

"What about?" Legolas sighed.

"Were you there when my father and his friends were captured by your father, the Elf-King?" The dwarf searched the elf's face for the sign of his response.

"Aye, I was there. I watched from afar. Then returned I to Lake Town, where I was to assist with Bard's rebuilding of the mill," Legolas leaned against a tree then slid down to sit on the roots, "I was there when Smaug attacked, and I fought beside Thorin and Company during the Battle of the Five Armies."

"I see," Gimli sighed, "I would ask a favor of you, Master Elf."

Legolas was surprised by the dwarf's easy inquiry for help at the hands of an elf, but he recovered quickly, "Yes, I will help you. What is it that you need?"

"I wish to learn how to walk quietly," Gimli said gruffly, "I know that I shall always bend a blade of grass, and I shall always make sound, but, when I hunt, the prey always seems to know exactly where I am."

"Then it is not a matter of stealth, but of tracking," Legolas sighed and pointed to a tree across the way, "On the morrow, when the first light shines, meet me in the clearing at the foot of the great tree over there. Then we shall begin your training."

Gimli bristled slightly at the word 'training,' but he stepped away quickly, leaving Legolas to his thoughts.

Indeed, they spent the next few days in Lothlórien, finding supplies and resting. Legolas found Gimli to be a great hunter. Through they hunted nothing, Legolas stood in the center of a clearing while the dwarf prowled around the outside.

Even the elf found is slightly difficult to locate the dwarf sometimes.

On the fourth day, Legolas stood quietly in the center of the clearing. His ears heard nothing, and he saw no movement. Could it be that Gimli forgot about their last lesson this morning?

"Ayah!" Gimli leaped out of the bushes behind the elf, surprising him. He tackled Legolas around the legs, dropping him to the ground, "Ha! Master elf, you are a good teacher!"

Legolas began to laugh, "And it is a poor student who cannot pass his master in knowledge."

"Here, allow me to help you to your feet, for I have heard that two thousand year old bones break easily," Gimli reached out. Legolas, his eyebrow raised, took the dwarfs hand, then, at the last second, swiped his feet around, kicking the feet from under him.

Now it was Legolas' turn to stand over the other, smirking.

"Ah, I am younger in years, but not in body, my friend!" Gimli jested as he stood, "We must come to a truce else we kill each other in attempts to outdo."

"You call me friend, as I do you," Legolas shook his hand after pulling him to his feet, "I am your friend, dear dwarf."

"And I yours," Gimli grasped his hand tightly and laughed, deep and thunderous. Legolas' light elvish voice mixed with it, danced with it, and the two laughs rose to the canopy of trees.

"The first friendship of its kind for many years, my dear husband," Galadriel sighed, leaning over the edge of the railing, "And it will last forever, lest my powers lie."

"No, they will remain friends, of this, I am sure," Celeborn nodded, "An Elf and a Dwarf. This has not been seen since Durin's Day. We will see a new era grow."

Celeborn and Galadriel watched for a bit longer as the two new friends jested and joked, walking back to the place where the others rested and sharpened their sword. Boromir, the human, was sparring with the hobbits.

"Legolas, Gimli, how did lessons go this morn?" Boromir stopped long enough to smile widely.

"I could sneak up on even you now, human, for I have had an elf as a teacher," Gimli growled good-naturedly, "And a good teacher he was, for even now, he has trouble finding me. I urge you to me careful around me now."

Boromir laughed, and Aragorn chuckled in the background.

"Come, Boromir, let us show the hobbits how it is done," Aragorn drew his sword and faced off with his fellow human.

Cut, block, cut. The dance was slow at first, but if speeded up soon after the first few _clangs were heard. Lunge, cut, block. _

Boromir and Aragorn were evenly matched. Soon, the demonstration became something of an actual spar. Sweat stained the brows of the fighters as they moved quickly back and forth, side to side. The blades met, again and again.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Boromir fell to his knees and laughed.

"That was invigorating," Aragorn laughed as well and sheathed his sword. 

"When your breath returns, you should demonstrate what the best techniques against an elf," Legolas said quietly, not wanting to seem too eager. Truth was that it had been many a year since he had held an actual sword in his hand and wielded it.

"Aye, I will face you, Master Elf, though you must be kind in the sight of the little ones," Boromir stood and laughed, "For I am not as dexterous as I was as a young man."

Legolas laughed, "Take your rest, for I must find a sword of my own to wield."

"Here, mine may suffice," Aragorn offered is sword to him, But Legolas shook his head.

"With something of such length I cannot wield," He looked down as Frodo nudged him slightly on the leg.

"Sting is an elvish blade, and in your hands it may be at home," The Ringbearer smiled and handed the blade to the grateful elf.

"I am ready for you, son of Gondor," Legolas said, his smile wide. Frodo and the others backed away from them and the spar began.

Legolas moved swiftly, but the length of Boromir's sword compensated for that advantage. They were evenly matched, as Aragorn had been, and the fight became a dance. They were broken apart when Boromir stumbled and Legolas stretched out his hand to steady him.

"I concede, master elf, you have beaten me," Boromir laughed.

"Ai, no, my friend, for I am in the same condition as you," Legolas returned the smile and the sword to Frodo, "We three are evenly matched, yet that does not take into account the dwarf."

"I fight no one, for I rest for the road ahead," Gimli sat on his bed, "And you ninnies have forgotten that the Quest of the Fellowship continues yet again tomorrow, and your strength shall be numbered in hours."

Even the hobbits laughed heartily, for they knew how right the dwarf's words were.

The river was calm the next day, with Legolas guiding Gimli in one, Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam in another. Nithanien and Edredhel paddled one, and then Boromir, Merry, and Pippin rode in the last. Upon leaving Lothlórien and speeding onto the main channel of water, the light mood slowly changed to one of apprehension.

The water passed quickly by, as did time.

Suddenly, around the bend, two statues of enormous stature loomed over them. Their hands were outstretched to them, as if to ward off evil.

"The Argonath," Legolas whispered to Gimli, as if in reverence of the spirits of the two human kings of the past. Many moments passed in silence as they passed the statues. Legolas felt a cold chill was over him.

Evil was here, or had passed by recently. Or perhaps, was coming.

They landed the boat just before the falls. Once they landed, Legolas immediately shied from the forest.

"Aragorn, we cannot stay here," He hissed, a black feeling falling over him, "A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. We cannot stay, for evil is here."

"Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for nightfall," Aragorn said simply.

"It is not the shore that worries me," Legolas admitted, turning to face the prince, trying to put his endangered feelings into words. He merely kept his ear to the woods as they set up their camp. Frodo had seemed worried by his words and stayed close to Sam, who was napping by a piece of stone ruin.

Boromir returned soon from gathering wood, and soon, a good fire was burning. Legolas looked to the stars and wondered why he could not shake this feeling of darkness and shame. It seemed to be driven away by the warmth of the fire and the closeness of friends.

"My prince, I must talk with you," Nithanien approached him as he stood, shielded from the heat of the fire by leaning against the dark side of a tree. The young elf's light blue eyes followed those of his prince to the small patch of sky that shone through the trees.

"Can you feel it, Nithanien?" Legolas said quietly.

The elf scout looked at him, then back at the sky and the twinkling stars.

"Can you feel the evil that was here?"

"Aye, and it is that which I wish to speak to you of," He paused for a moment, as if time seemed to whisper to him, "I fear that we may not survive the night."

"If it is willed to be so, then may it be," Legolas nearly collapsed, but instead, slid down the length of the tree trunk, coming to rest on a root. Nithanien crouched next to him, concern written on his face.

"You are overwhelmed by this, my prince," He said, sympathizing with his lord and friend. His light blonde hair seemed to glow in the firelight, "I, too, have felt the whispers in the depths of my heart, foretelling of evil that may yet come to pass. They tell of the evil that the Ringbearer must destroy."

"I listen to them, but I cannot hear what they say," Legolas sighed and covered his face with his hands, "Their tones are dark, and they try to push me where I cannot go. They warn me, yet I cannot heed their words."

"What can you hear, my prince?" The scout was worried.

"I hear the tales of Mirkwood, the cries of the dying as the orcs first attacked," The prince wiped away the tears that welled up in his eyes, "The sounds cover that of the voice, and I cannot strain to hear."

"I know what I hear, my prince, but I hesitate to share the word of my heart," Nithanien looked at the pine-needle and leaf strewn ground below him, "But I feel that I must, for Edredhel feels the same, though I believe his heart-cry is far more ominous in its words than mine."

"Then say what you must, dear friend, and we will brave the deep of foretelling together," The prince composed himself and looked at the elf.

Nithanien paused, as he did before, but his eyes were averted from Legolas' gaze, "Our hearts tell us of our deaths."

"What!" Legolas straightened suddenly at the mention of their deaths.

"They also bespoke of our salvation," The other elf said quickly, "How to come on this Quest was wrong for us, that we should not have agreed to pledge our skills, how it was a foolish thing to do. We must return to Rivendell and attempt to return to Mirkwood."

The son of Thranduil sagged back, his soul dreading the next words to be spoken.

"It was wrong for us to try and reintegrate with other elves!" Nithanien said quickly, "Edredhel believes it so! We know nothing of their ways anymore. We are the _Tawar-Maethor! Not Rivendell, not Lórien. We do not wage war as they do."_

Legolas was broken. He had felt so strongly about this quest, about what it stood for. Now his closest friends spoke against him, against his feelings. And he had wanted so badly to become as he once was, to become as his father was…

The screams of the dying, the tears of the oppressed, and the pleadings of the captured, all faded into a mist, becoming memory. What had been so vivid since their happenings became so vague, as though worn by the years.

"No, I will not leave, though you are released," Legolas shook his head, "I can hear my soul's voice now."

Nithanien looked at him strangely.

"I was right to come, but I was wrong to bring you, for I wanted for companions that I could share with," He shivered, "I see now."

"What do you see, my prince?" The blue eyed elf pleaded, "I do so want to know. Please tell me, for I am torn beyond staying with you."

"I see—"

Legolas stopped and looked at the stars. Could it have been just him, or did the stars seem to form a face?

"I see that I was selfish, wanting only for friends to stay," The face shed a tear, "I see you and Edredhel, but you must return to Rivendell, and stay there, for returning to Mirkwood would most certainly bring your death."

"But we cannot leave our home to ruin!"

"It is already ruin! All that can be done now is the cleansing and the driving out of evils, beginning with our own!" Legolas snapped, "Our souls are not _Tawar-Maethor, only our minds! You must be safe, for if death came to either of you, my life in Middle-earth would end as surely as yours."_

Nithanien sat in silence. His prince was telling them to give up the fight, at least for now. What would Edredhel think?

His question was answered when the strong elf approached them from the fire.

"Listened have I to the conversation," He said quietly.

"And what say you?" Legolas asked.

"I say we obey our prince's command," Edredhel said quietly, "And return to Rivendell."

The three elves relaxed suddenly, as all their wills were in communion, and the voices in their souls spoke as one, with one voice.

_So it shall be done._

The next morning was a slightly strange one at that. Though they had planned to cross at nightfall, no one moved after darkness had fallen, as if something more was holding them back. It was good that they did not, though they did not know, but the Uruk-Hai from Orthanc passed there upon the nightfall.

Early, far in the morning, Legolas waved Edredhel and Nithanien off in their boat. Their strong arms quickly propelled them out of sight, deep into the morning mist. The prince of Mirkwood just gazed after them, praying for their safety.

Suddenly, he cried out an alarm as dark, shadowed figures marched, _ran, through the morning mist. He could see the black skin, marked on by red and white paint, their sheen bright with morning moisture._

"_Yrch!" He cried, falling into his native Sindarin tongue, "__Tiro!"_

Aragorn was immediately up, his sword in hand. The hobbits were swept into the center of a loose, protective circle, though they had their swords out as well.

Legolas dove to the side, out of sight of the approaching orcs. They passed him by, under the branch on which he crouched. He dropped behind them as the battle commenced, releasing arrow upon arrow, letting loose the deadly shafts of Lórien. 

Orcs fell around him, keeping his feet and mind moving. He couldn't slow, or the deadly blades that cut the air around him would catch him. So much confusion surrounded him, but he kept his footing, aiding Aragorn when he needed help.

The dwarf also seemed to require his help every so often.

The battle whirled around him, confusing him constantly.

Then, the horn of Gondor broke through the morning air. Legolas realized that the morning mists had long since been burned away by the rising of the sun. So long had passed…

"The Horn of Gondor!"

They ran, dodging orc after orc. Legolas was eventually slowed, the creatures around him preying in on every side. Gimli cried out in rage as three orcs began to converge in, cutting off his escape, behind him, a large tree with gnarled roots, and to his right, a steep ravine.

He had no chance of escape.

Legolas aimed and shot, two orcs coming almost too close. The blade actually skimmed his head before he ducked swiftly. The next shaft flew into the back of one of the orcs who now stood evilly over the dwarf.

"Elf! Get over here!" 

Legolas finally sighed and stepped over a body, moving to help Gimli. Soon, the two remaining attackers fell. Gimli growled something in Dwarvish, something that the elven prince, in his long life, had heard expressed many a time.

And usually, it was uttered in his direction.

Gimli's eyes widened as Legolas reached down to help him to his feet. Legolas whirled just in time to see the flat of an orcish sword come at him.

It contacted hard with his forehead, smashing him back. His feet struggled for footing and found none. Less than a second later, his back had impacted with the slope of the ravine. Above him, as he rolled roughly down the slope, he heard Gimli's axe sing.

He hit a rock, hard, and all his breath was knocked from him. He laid there for a few seconds, waiting for the world around him to stop spinning, and then turned onto his stomach. He waited again, for the ground seemed to heave mightily.

"Legolas! Do you breathe?" Gimli slid down near him, bracing one foot against the rock which had so mercilessly been thrown into the elf's side.

"_Tancave__, in cuinar," Legolas fell into a mix of Quenya and Sindarin, so muddled was his mind._

"I will take your response as a yes," Gimli reached down and unceremoniously hauled the elf into a sitting position, "That bruise may take a while to heal."

"You are not helping," Legolas shakily pulled himself to his feet and struggled to reach the root that his bow had snagged on. He pulled himself up, grabbed the bow, and then slid back down on his feet, coming to a rest near Gimli.

"Let us hurry, for it has been long since I have heard the sounds of battle," Gimli grunted and began to make his way back up the side of the ravine.

Once they had made their way to the top, Legolas did not hesitate to run, making his way quickly to where the scent of death was all too strong, and the stench of blood and orc was all too thick. Gimli fell behind him as he raced through the trees.

Legolas' eyes fell upon a scene that tore his heart. Aragorn was bent over a deathly still warrior, who the elven prince reluctantly identified as Boromir.

As it had with his friends' deaths, Legolas' heart broke. Even as a _Tawar-Maethor, he had held back his feelings, fearing the weakness it brought. With Gandalf's death, it was all he could do to hold back from collapsing._

Now was the time that he wondered, what did humans feel? It was known to a select few that elves felt emotions like grief and sorrow to the furthest extent, and their minds needed to be ready to hold back the flood of sensations that threatened to break the dam of their carefully built pretenses.

Gimli soon approached behind him, his silence enough.

Legolas held back when the remaining two of the Fellowship carried Boromir's body back to the camp. He gathered arrows from the bodies of orcs, or Uruk-Hai, as the scarred letters on one's arm told him. It took him a few minutes to clean them to the point that he could use them…

The three black arrows that had plagued his human friend's body lay side by side on the ground, as he noticed. Once he finished reloading his quiver, he bent and picked up each arrow, slowly, deliberately.

In a sudden flash of anger, the elven prince took two of the three and smashed them into the ground. The shafts shattered under his force.

He looked down at the one remaining shaft.

He swore that this arrow would find its mark in the body of one of the Uruk-Hai. His promise resounded in his mind as he carefully walked back to the shore.

Once there, his quick eye caught a glimpse of Frodo and Sam, already reaching the far side of the lake. He swiftly took hold of the bow of a Lothlorien boat, "Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore!"

Aragorn did not move. Instead, he looked forlornly at the bracers which he now wore. They were Boromir's…

"You mean not to follow them," How could he have not seen it? The far-away look that both humans had gotten whenever the One Ring was in the open, the flare of fire in Frodo's hand when Galadriel had looked into his mind…

The One Ring was doom to them.

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," The human warrior finally said.

"Then it has all been in vain! The Fellowship has failed," Gimli approached, his voice revealing his readiness for blood, orc blood.

"Not if we hold true to each other," Aragorn reached out and rested his hands on his friend's shoulders, "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left."

He moved away, slipping his dagger back into his sheath.

"Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light," He turned away and smirked slightly, through the bruises and cuts on his face, "Let's hunt some orc."

A swell of power rushed through Legolas' body and he nearly laughed. A quick glance at the dwarf relieved him of his worries of showing anything in front of the diminutive being.

"Yes!" He whooped and ran off after Aragorn.

Legolas smiled, no, he actually grinned slightly and ran after his friends, the black arrow of his promise slipped safely into his quiver.

_To be continued…_

_December 18th, 2002__…_


End file.
